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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598477">Flayed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeautumn/pseuds/callmeautumn'>callmeautumn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Implied Misgendering, Implied Transphobia, Non-Binary Character Written by a Non-Binary Author, Non-Binary Scorpius Malfoy, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Main Character, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other, They/Them/Theirs Pronouns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:33:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeautumn/pseuds/callmeautumn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius is thirteen when he realizes there might be something different about him.<br/>There’s something under his skin that hisses and scuttles from the light when he’s referred to as “Mr. Malfoy”. There’s something that warms when he works up the courage to try on Delilah Parkinson’s maxi skirt at 1am.  There’s something within him that glows when he sees the word buried in a Wikipedia post: agender. Finally, a reason for the shame that bubbles in their chest and throat at the sight of their nakedness. Finally, pronouns that feel right, not just adequate. Finally, the puzzle piece snaps into place.<br/>Finally, they are not alone.  </p><p>Rowling is being a massive terf again. Fuck her and her transphobia.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flayed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span><strong>Thirteen</strong> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius is thirteen when he realizes there might be something different about him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something under his skin that hisses and scuttles from the light when he’s referred to as “Mr. Malfoy”. There’s something that warms when he works up the courage to try on Delilah Parkinson’s maxi skirt at 1am.  There’s something within him that glows when he sees the word buried in a Wikipedia post: agender. Finally, a reason for the shame that bubbles in their chest and throat at the sight of their nakedness. Finally, pronouns that feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not just adequate. Finally, the puzzle piece snaps into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they are not alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s something in them that shrinks in horror when Father asks about the flag. It’s a small thing; a scrap of fabric glued to a flimsy line of black plastic. They thought it might be hidden in the vast arrays of greens and greys of their room. But they were wrong and now the world is crashing down around their ears. It’s in Father’s hand and they want to cry, and run, and maybe die a little. All the parts of them they want to rip off their body are suddenly ringing with how wrong they are. They’re crying and shaking, and they know suddenly they cannot lie. They cannot hold this in, not any longer, not when it’s killing them to live in this skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the agender flag,” they say. “I’m agender.” Scorpius waits for the blow, the low voice telling them to leave and never come back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father does none of these things. He just sits heavily on Scorpius’s bed. “I don’t know what that means,” he admits in the stretched-thin silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words come pouring out of their mouth, hours upon hours of research and scrolling barely stringing itself into coherent sentences before tumbling past their lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, agender means, or translates to, really, without gender</span>
  </em>
  <span> they hear themselves stutter; and </span>
  <em>
    <span> it’s an identity that falls under non-binary, which is itself a term serving for many as an umbrella</span>
  </em>
  <span>; and </span>
  <em>
    <span>as for me, binary genders just don’t make sense. They burn too brightly, are too loud to be comprehended</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they’re entirely aware of it, they find themselves sitting beside Father on the bed, putting words to feelings they’ve never articulated before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I exist in some muted neutral away from the blazing heat of man and woman</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The thing between my legs makes me cry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel so alone in my head with all these monsters insisting I am something I am not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes I move the wrong way, and remember my body, and cannot get out of bed, cannot breathe, cannot think beyond wrong-wrong-wrong-no-wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When both tears and words are emptied from their body, they wait with bated breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Father finally says. His voice is hoarse with tears, but he speaks with a certain terrifying finality when he says, again, “Okay.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Scorpius blurts.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just-- I know that this is a lot to come on so suddenly, and probably super far from what you’ve known about me, and like I said I know this is a lot - you hardly signed up for </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father cuts them off with a surprisingly strong grip on their hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me very carefully: when your mother told me she was pregnant, I was scared absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>shitless.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But I also  knew that I would love that bean in her belly with every iota of my being, come hell or high water.” Tears, hot and born of relief, flood their face one more. They don’t bother to wipe them away. “Nothing about being a parent makes any sense to me,” Father admits, “other than doing my best to show you I love you. That is my primary objective and responsibility until the day I die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They feel flayed open, and they can’t tell yet if it’s a good or bad thing yet. But when Father tucks them beneath his arm and kisses the top of their head, Scorpius dares to believe that things might just be okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Seventeen </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius is seventeen and entirely numb.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus holds their hand, a blazing point of awareness as they stare blankly at the scarred wood. Above their head, words are flung. Words in defense of them. Words they do their best to block out; words that slice them, tear them apart, crush them into the dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” they mutter, pushing back from the table with an ungodly screech. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a muggle record player scratching off suddenly, the conversation comes to a halt. They don’t look back. They don’t look anywhere but down, fleeing the kitchen of the Burrow. Gripping their skirt in one hand, they take the stairs two at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, somebody is in hot pursuit. They don’t stop to turn around. Pushing burning muscles and lungs further up the stairs, they finally make it to the top level. They push open the door and collapse onto Albus’s cot. The thing between their legs is squeezed uncomfortably. They cannot bring themselves to touch it, to move it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They struggle to breathe, both through the burn of exertion and the scald of tears. It’s been a long time since they’ve been so thoroughly misgendered, invalidated, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wronged</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It hurts just as vibrantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus finally catches up with them, pausing a moment to pant against the doorframe. Finally, he moves further into the room, and kneels beside the bed. Their eyes are eye level. Neither of them speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Albus brings his hand to rest upon Scorpius’s cheek. His thumb strokes through the tears. Scorpius wipes messily with their sleeve at the mixture of tears, saliva, and snot that have made a home on their face. Their hand feels cold against Albus’s. They hold his hand tighter for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though afraid to spook them, Albus leans in and rests their foreheads together. Wide green eyes, so green it’s nearly impossible, are all Scorpius can see. Those impossible eyes flutter shut, then squeeze tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers. “I’m so, so, <em>so</em> fucking sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius shuts their eyes against the new wave of tears that threatens. They simply shake their head.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s nothing to be sorry for</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Twenty One</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius is twenty-one and soaking in the bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scorpius? I’m home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the bathroom!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some sounds outside the door, then Albus knocks gently and pulls the door open just a crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at them, eyes flicking across what’s visible of their body before returning to their face. “You look so beautiful,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius snorts. Their hair is in an awful top knot, they’ve got flecks of face masks still clinging to their face, and their skin is flushed and sweaty from the heat of the water. They’re hardly beautiful right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” Albus insists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just huff and roll their eyes. Fighting with Albus about whether they’re beautiful in any given moment is about as fruitful as arguing a brick wall into dancing a jig. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come join me,” they say instead, riding a sudden wave of courage. At Albus’s surprised expression, anxiety floods their system. Still, they hold fast. They feel good in the bath, good enough to let Albus see them -- assuming that Albus actually gets in before Scorpius loses their nerve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus searches their face for a long moment before finally nodding. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the door all the way open, then shuts it softly behind him. Suddenly, the only sounds are the two of them, breathing. Scorpius closes the book they were reading, lays it on the closed seat of the toilet. They watch in mingled curiosity and arousal as Albus strips off his work clothes. They shift their legs, bending at the knee to curl up a bit. The water sloshing has Albus looking up, fingers hooked in the elastic band of his briefs. They make eye contact for a few endless seconds. Scorpius nods tightly. Albus slides off the briefs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How--uhm--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They jut their chin to the other end of the tub. With a grateful nod, Albus steps over and into the warm water. He hisses softly at the heat, then folds himself down against the back wall. Scorpius can’t help but laugh at Albus, long-limbed as he is, curled up so small against the other edge of the tub. Albus’s lips quirk with amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes locked on Scorpius’s face, he extends his legs slowly. After a little sloshing and some giggly sliding on the slippery porcelain, his legs are nestled along Scorpius’s side. They reach out a hand and rest it on his knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus’s eyes roam their body. They resist the urge to squirm, to hide away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He sees me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they remind themselves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He sees me just as I am</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They allow their eyes to trace the lines of Albus’s body in return. He is truly beautiful - the hair on his thighs, the long arch of his foot, the muscle of his chest, the softness of his tummy and sides. All of it. Arousal pools low in their body, a growing ache that’s familiar and brand new all at once. They look up to catch Albus looking at them. A hunger he usually keeps under careful wraps fills his eyes now. They swallow; catch their courage before it slips away entirely; shift in the water onto their knees, then up onto Albus’s lap. His arousal nestles against theirs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands flutter to their waist. “Is this okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nod. Rest trembling hands on his chest. “I’m--  I’m sorry I couldn’t do this sooner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus huffs a soft laugh, shakes his head. “I wasn’t waiting, darling. If it never happened, I’d be just as satisfied, just as in love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s happening now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus’s breath whooshes out of him. His hands shift their hips in a rocking motion that sends sparks up their spine. After a few rocks, they take over the motion themselves, pushing down a little harder, a little softer on the way back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This okay?” Albus’s voice is soft but startling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpius nods. Looks up and catches his eye. “Yeah, really okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two share a nervous laugh, the only sound in the room rising above the sloshing water. Scorpius is bowled over by a wave of gratitude. They’ve always wanted a partner to laugh with, but never did they imagine laughing during sex. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this sex? Is this what they’ve been so afraid of? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They lean in slowly, kiss the blade of Albus’s jaw softly. The sound he releases is low and utterly sinful, his head rocking back into the tile, his hands gripping their hips hard enough to bruise. They lean in further, kissing down Albus’s neck. After a quick glance up, they scrape their teeth softly against his neck, closing with a sucking sort of kiss. Albus bucks up into their hips, grinding their arousal into his with a sigh that grows into a moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” they ask, hidden in the warm safety of his neck. They feel his throat bob.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingertips begin tracing their sides, soft touches that make them shiver. A whine falls from their lips, muffled in his neck but still loud enough to be heard over the soft waves of the water against the tub. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This okay, sweetness?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nod, grinding down harder. “Please,” they whisper, unsure of what they want but knowing they want more of it; knowing Albus can give it to them; knowing Albus can hold all their vulnerability, all their weakness, all their heaven, in his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus’s fingers trace farther upwards, skating across their ribs. They giggle, jerking away and falling out of the slow rhythm they found. Albus giggles too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he murmurs. They shake their head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S okay.” They gasp. “Touch me still?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The breath whooshes out of Albus again, warm across their shoulders and back. “Good luck prying me off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They share another laugh. Albus’s hands are pressed fully into their ribs, pushing them back just a bit. His eyes search theirs for a moment. “You know you can say stop at any time, right? I was joking. Say stop, red, whatever; I’ll stop in a heartbeat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They press a soft kiss to his lips as another wave of gratitude pushes them deeper into the sea of love the two of them made in their bathtub. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” they whisper. “‘S the same for me. Say stop and I’ll stop.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nervous laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take this pause to look their fill. Closer, Albus is even more beautiful. The swirl of hair on his chest is thick but not overwhelming. They reach out to run their hands over it. Albus jerks, breath catching when their pinky brushes his nipple. They look up, watching Albus’s face carefully, and brush their fingers purposefully across his nipple. His head falls back with another sighing moan. They feel caught in a feedback look of arousal, Albus’s enjoyment pushing on theirs. The cry Albus releases when they skate their nail along the perimeter of his nipple makes them push down onto his erection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re killing me, gorgeous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resumes his exploration of their body, hands tracing heady, teasing patterns against their skin. While they’re distracted with his chest, he lays soft kisses across their shoulder, up their neck. They lose focus when he worries a patch of skin up by their ear, their fingers clenching senselessly as Albus does his best to melt their brain cells directly out of their ears.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hips are still rocking against his, growing faster as their arousal builds. Their hands find their way into his hair. They need some anchor, some point of reference in the swirl of arousal and water surrounding them. They can’t stop the sound that falls from their lips when Albus’s fingers find their nipples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Albus murmurs into their neck. His breath ghosts against their ear, and suddenly all their friends’ insistence that ear-nibbling was sexy makes sense. “Fuck, you make the prettiest sounds, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sound escapes through pressed lips at the gravel in Albus’s voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus’s fingers are soft, teasing, a brilliant counterpoint to the strong grind of his hips against theirs. “This alright, darling? Can I play with your pretty tits?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nod frantically. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, fuck, fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> they’ve never been this aroused, this wide open, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyting</span>
  </em>
  <span> in their lives. Their nails brush against his stomach, causing him to arch his back and hiss. They’re suddenly so close to the edge, so close to flying apart, and Albus is </span>
  <em>
    <span>still talking</span>
  </em>
  <span> in that voice like thunder and sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me, gorgeous. You’re so pretty, so beautiful. I wanna see you in lace and satin, see you soft, and gorgeous, and all mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each word pushes them closer to the edge, makes them squirm and thrust with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment so sweet, so keen. They want that, suddenly. They want to dress up for Albus, let him see them vulnerable and needy, let him take them, ruin them-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They dive for the safety of Albus’s throat as they shake apart. Their whole body whites out, limbs trembling, breath trapped in their lungs, toes twitching against Albus’s knee.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they come back to themselves, Albus has collected them in his arms; held them safe as they came apart; waited as they put themselves back together. They lay a soft kiss to Albus’s throat. A pair of lips press to their shoulder in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you…?” They finally venture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus nods, sighs. “Yeah, lovely. I couldn’t quite help it, watching you, feeling you.” He pauses, inhales deeply, lays his lips against their shoulder. “So beautiful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They flush. They feel sticky. The bathwater is growing lukewarm around them. Scorpius brushes Albus’s hair back from his forehead. Seeks his eyes. “That was-- uhm-- that was okay for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus’s smile is small, and warm, and just for them. “So okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They return to their hiding spot, their place of safety, of refuge. “Thank you,” they whisper. Albus just strokes their back, kisses their shoulder, sighs out warm breath against their skin; kisses them again. They close their eyes. They’re flayed open, floaty, held to earth only by Albus’s palms running across their skin. They rest.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>that's all, folks! i had a great time writing this piece and i hope you enjoyed it as well! come hang out with me on tumblr: @callmeautumn</p></blockquote></div></div>
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